


Madre de Dios

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Church Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Latinx Jason, M/M, Public Sex, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9994391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: Jason spent many nights curled up in the back pew of a church, avoiding the cold and the rain and simply trying to make it to the next day. Now, he's back to leave himself even more vulnerable to the devil himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have this HC that Jason actually knows and like prayers. Even if he's not religious, the repetition is soothing- but I do HC that as a kid, he used to think that if there was any sort of god out there, it was the virgin mother who was going to save him.
> 
> I also have always loved throwing Christian imagery into work and such, and the Hail Mary is my favorite prayer. So of course a fic happened. Or maybe it's just too much time spent in Catholic Churches as a kid that finally bubbled up.

The church doors creaked and groaned as Jason pulled them open. Inside, darkness drenched the pews, the alter. Glimpses of yellow from the street lights echoed in through the stained glass windows, but nothing else. Jason could see, but without switching the view within his mask, it was touch.

 

The doors slammed shut, and he almost jumped. Next to him, Roman walked up, clapped a leather glove clad hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

 

“Old churches are a thing of beauty,” he said, lifting a hand and gesturing out. “The  _ craftsmanship _ , the lies seeped into the old wood of the pews. Do you know what happens in these places, my boy?”

 

Jason nodded. He  _ did _ , because he remembered churches back in the day, back when the street was more of a home than his mom’s dingy apartment. Back when it  _ was _ his home after she died. At least it was warm, had unlocked doors, and a few hours curled up on a pew were better than the sleep he got out in the rain.

 

“Horrible things,” Roman continued, walking past Jason, heading up towards the alter. “We preach salvation and forgiveness, offer  _ confession _ , from those who are filthier than the ones asking for forgiveness!” Roman turned, standing up on the first step, gesturing out to the empty church. “Why, the priest here, did you know he’s one of mine? I know what he does while he watches those  _ choir boys _ , and I use it as his  _ noose _ . The basement here is perfect for trafficking.”

 

Jason tightened his jaw. He wasn’t sure he  _ believed _ in much of anything, but what Roman was insinuating was enough to earn someone a bullet through the eyes. And even if god had no time for Jason, Jason still wanted the church to be something…  _ better _ for people.

 

If religion couldn’t be salvation and love, at least this could be a roof over heads.

 

“Come here,” Roman said, curling his fingers. Jason walked towards him, pausing so Roman could trace his fingers along his smooth mask. “Do you know why I brought you here?”

 

“ _ No _ .” Jason’s voice was filtered, mechanical through the mask. It seemed to ricochet off the stained glass, vibrate the damn walls.

 

Roman  _ tsk’d _ , shaking his head. “Take your helmet off.” Jason reached up, obeyed, pulled it free, moved to settle it under his arm- but Roman reached out, slapped it away. It fell, tumbled down and rolled back down the aisle, stopping when it bumped a pew. “I know everything about you,  _ Jason _ . I don’t own something without researching it first. And I know that  _ this _ church is in the area you called home, once.”

 

Jason sucked at his tongue, worked to keep his face stoic, calm. But he knew Roman could read every little twitch in his lips, his eyes.

 

“Did you sleep on these pews as a child? Did you come here and cry to  _ god _ to save you from this life?” His hand reached up again, traced Jason’s cheek. Jason hated that his knees wanted to buckle over that, that those gloves made his cock twitch in his cup. “Did you want to die here, Jason?”

 

“No.”

 

The  _ slap _ that came to his cheek stung. Jason’s head jerked, and he reached up, covering the offended flesh, his eyes glaring at Roman. “Do  _ not _ lie to me, boy.” Jason rubbed his cheek, and Roman’s hand moved to his jacket, pushing it back from his breastplate, so he could trace the offending  _ bat _ still branded there. “You wanted to escape your hell on earth? Who did you pray to? God didn’t save you. He condemned you.”

 

Jason let his hand fall down, covered Roman’s at his chest instead. He squeezed those fingers, leaning in. “What do you want from me?”

 

“A redefinition of this space.” Roman twisted his hand, managed to jerk Jason in, so the man was breathing on his mask. “A look inside your head, Jason. I look at who you think can deliver you salvation.” He flicked at his jacket again. “Strip.”

 

“ _ What _ ?”

 

“You heard me.” Roman’s voice echoed, was loud, booming. “Take everything off. Let me see your scars, Jason.”

 

Jason hesitated, before he shrugged his jacket off. He tossed it away, holding his head high, thinking  _ this time _ he wouldn’t give the power to Roman. This time, it’d be even footing. This time, he’d do what he was  _ supposed _ to do and not fall into the hands of the man he was here to trap and expose. “Better things we can do with our time,” Jason said, shoulder holsters going next, before he began work on the breastplate.

 

Roman turned away from him, walking up to the table on the alter. He rubbed his fingers over the cloth there, wondering if he could lay Jason out here as an offering. “Never any better use of my time than on you,” he offered, turning. Jason had stripped completely from the waist up, was working on his thigh holsters now. In the dim light his scars were hard to make out, but  _ there _ , Roman knew. He’d teased them enough, rubbed his gloved and bare fingers over them.

 

Jason huffed, bending over to work open his boots. Those took time, but eventually he was working his pants open. Roman was watching his every move, and it was his stare and not the idea that this was a  _ holy place _ that had color rising to his cheeks. He was trying to remove himself from where he was- telling himself now to think about the pew in the back that had been his home. That at that age, he would’ve stripped down for someone  _ just _ like this man, because it might mean enough money for a hot meal. Maybe two.

 

Jason worked his cup and briefs down as well, kicked everything aside and straightened up, standing completely naked. Roman splayed both hands on the table, leaning forward- and Jason swore the mask, it sneered.

 

“Do you know where the priest is now, Jason?”

 

He said nothing.

 

“He’s downstairs. He thinks he’s having a normal night, and that when my men are done with him he can jerk off to whatever  _ fantasies _ we interrupted. But tonight, he’ll get something  _ better _ .” There was a pause, before Roman straightened up, dug into his jacket and tossed something at Jason. Jason caught the little bottle against his chest. “He’ll get what he  _ deserves _ , Jason. He’ll get a bullet between his eyes… if you’re good.”

 

Jason eased his hand from his chest, looked at the bottle of lube he held now. Roman walked slowly around the table, down the altar, and settled himself into the first pew, enjoying the view of Jason from the back. His back was  _ littered _ with scars, so much ruined dark skin that made him seem like some sort of burned demon spat right from the maws of hell.

 

“Fuck yourself,” Roman said, “Right here. Lay yourself out for your ghost to see, Jason. Come thinking of whoever will  _ save you _ , and I’ll let you have that little bit of justice.” He stretched his arms out over the back of the pew, crossing his legs, and Jason didn’t turn, didn’t look over his shoulder.

 

He knew Roman wasn’t joking. He  _ never _ did. He was fucked in the head enough to love this, to get off on this without Jason touching him, probably.

 

Jason hated that his cock twitched over the idea of  _ getting _ to touch Roman, though. That maybe tonight it’d be him, and not a girl Roman paid.

 

Jason carefully got down on his knees, opened the bottle and squirted a generous amount on his fingers. He lowered his other hand down onto the old carpet, let it hold firm as he reached back, twisting slightly to tease his wet fingers over his hole. He gave easily to his own touch, relaxed from countless nights of fucking himself on his fingers, thinking of  _ whoever _ it was that night that fit his visage of god. Of desire. Of Satan.

 

Jason eased two in, lifted his ass and spread his thighs and  _ displayed _ himself for Roman’s eyes. He heard Roman breathing against the mask as he worked his fingers slowly, stretching himself more than seeking pleasure. If Roman had wanted him to come, he would have told him.  _ Would _ tell him, when the time was right. For now, Jason was just biding his time…

 

“What’s better to you, Jason?” Roman asked suddenly, inclining his head slightly, loving to watch the way Jason fucked himself on his fingers so slowly. Maybe he would break again soon, would invite Jason into bed with his girls for the night. He wanted to see what Jason could  _ do _ to them. “The cold pew with the sound of the rain hitting the church- or my warm bed but  _ knowing _ I’ll be touching you, seeing you, picking you apart scar by fucking  _ scar _ ?”

 

Jason twisted his fingers, knew the answer and hated it. But Roman’s bed, the way the man knew where his seams were weak, it was intoxicating, heady. It was noxious to his self control.

 

And Jason was letting it eat away at his dignity, night by fucking night.

 

“Answer me, boy.”

 

“Your bed.” Jason managed to keep his voice steady, scissoring his fingers now, opening himself wider. He was wet enough, relaxed enough that if Roman was going to fuck him, he was ready. Waiting.  _ Willing _ .

 

There was a low hum, and then Roman was standing up, walking over. He bent over, dragged his gloved fingers along Jason’s spine, reached the small of his back and splayed there. “I do love when you’re honest, Jason. Now…” his fingers moved lower, before his hand curled around Jason’s wrist, jerked his hand so his fingers drove in deep. Jason gasped. “Do you want to come by your own hand tonight or something sweeter?”

 

Jason bowed his head, as if lost in prayer, let Roman guide the movement of his hand, the speed at which he fucked himself.

 

“Answer me, sugar.” Roman slowed the movements, had Jason biting his lip to hide his whine. “I’m not a patient man.”

 

“Sweeter,” Jason mumbled, but it was loud enough. Roman let go of Jason’s hand, and Jason heard him fumbling with those slacks, heard his hand delving in. The lube was retrieved from the floor, as Roman settled on his knees, behind Jason.

 

“You had best pray,” he said, as one hand curled on Jason’s hop and ass, squeezing. “Because there is nothing sweet about salvation, Jason. There is only acknowledgement that you were defeated, that you  _ fell _ .” Roman leaned over him, and Jason got both hands on the carpet of the alter, felt the wet, blunt head of his cock rubbing along his entrance. “How far have you fallen, Jason Todd?”

 

Roman thrust in, sharp and hard, and Jason let his mouth fall open. His breath caught in his throat, his moan broken, as Roman seated fully inside him, ran both his hands up over his ass, onto his back.

 

“Do you have faith still?” Roman asked, easing back, before snapping his hips forward. “Do you believe in  _ god _ ?”

 

Jason groaned openly, his cock twitching. Somewhere between when he’d gotten his fingers in his ass and now, he’d gotten hard. Achingly so, and now he was dripping precum down onto the old carpet. “No,” he mumbled, with no conviction.

 

“Liar.” Another snap of his hips, and Roman groaned now. His hands roughly grasped Jason’s ass, squeezed hard, spread him open so he could glance down, see the way his cock disappeared into his body. “If I were to ask you to  _ pray _ , Jason-” he broke off, groaned as Jason tightened around him. “Who would you pray to?”

 

Jason sucked his breath in, let it rush out with the next thrust. He let his eyes fall shut, kept his head bowed, and very softly, uttered four words, “ _ Dios te salve, Maria. _ ”

 

He heard Roman chuckle. “Good,” he soothed, his hands moving up to Jason’s back. His thrusts were getting harder, were jostling Jason forward. “Continue.”

 

“Llena eres de gracia.” Jason grunted, bit his lip and nearly tore it, “El Seńor es c-contigo.”

 

Roman groaned. “My boy,” he mumbled, “my darling  _ Jason _ . Is this the mother you wanted?” Roman leaned over him, seemed to bracket him despite that he was  _ smaller _ . “Is she who would save you?”

 

Jason nodded, sucked in a breath, began rushing through the prayer. “Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre Jesús.”

 

Roman laughed then. He arched and laughed and his cock fill Jason and touched every nerve inside him. His own cock pulsed another heavy wave of precum onto the altar, as he felt tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. His nails dug at the carpet, the light scratching sound mingling in with the wet sound of Roman’s cock pounding into his ass, with each little breath and noise they both made.

 

“Santa María,” Jason choked out, as the tears began to spill down his cheeks. He could feel his belly beginning to tighten, and Roman shouldn’t be able to get to him like this. Shouldn’t be able to fuck him anywhere and make him come untouched. Shouldn’t  _ matter _ in Jason’s world. “Madre de Dios.”

 

“ _ Jason _ .” Roman moaned it, and Jason’s breath hiccuped. He tossed his head back, opening his eyes, staring up at the stained glass behind the altar, of the virgin Mary staring out, as if she was surveying the entire church. Jason used to think her eyes were on him, in his pew in the back. Like she was watching over him, as he slept. Keeping the demons away.

 

Now they were boring into his soul, seeing the demons he had willingly let in.

 

“Ruega…  _ ruega _ ,” Jason broke off, began to tremble. Roman’s hands squeezed his hips, and he heard his voice mumbled, knew the man was close, was going to come inside him like he could sear a brand into his nerves. “Ruega por nosotros pecadores.”

 

Jason sucked in a breath, felt the first wave catch in his belly. His body tightened up around Roman, squeezed him and drew him in deeper, and Roman fucked him  _ harder _ , tore back and shoved in until Jason’s ass was nestled back into him. “Finish it,” Roman commanded, his fingers digging in so tightly Jason might bruise. “Pray to your  _ mother _ and hope she spares the maggot you have become.”

 

Jason wailed instead, crying out loudly and coming the moment Roman tore him down, degraded him into a vile grub meant for flesh and death. He shook and shot heavily into the carpet, sliding forward until his arms gave and he crashed his face into them, sobbing as the tears streamed down. He bared his ass for Roman to fuck, to  _ finish in _ , mewling with each thrust that drove him beyond orgasm and into heaven.

 

When Roman’s hips snapped, stuttered, then stilled, Jason almost relaxed. Relaxed because it was  _ his _ , this pleasure. Because Roman had kept his focus on him long enough to fuck him, to come in him, to see him and want him.

 

“Finish,” Roman growled, still inside Jason, panting in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

 

“Ahora... y en la hora...  _ de nuestra muerte _ …” Jason shuddered, whining as Roman pulled out, as he felt cum trickling down one of his heavy thighs. “ _ Amen _ .”

 

There was a reassuring pat to his ass, and then the sound of Roman standing, of his zipper as he tucked himself away. “You are a piece of work,” Roman offered, studying the way Jason was still on display. “Falling apart for me in the house of god like that. Why, there’s no heaven for you.”

 

Jason carefully pushed himself up onto his hands and knees- and then just his knees. He didn’t look back, simply stared up at the stained glass, at the gaze that now seemed to dissatisfied, so let down, so  _ ashamed _ .

  
“No,” he mumbled, “there truly is none.”


End file.
